And the king said, bring me a sword. And they brought a sword before
the king. And the king said, divide the living child in two, and
give half to the one, and half to the other. Then spake the woman
whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned
upon her son, and she said, O my lord give her the living child, and
in no wise slay it.
--I Kings 3:24-36.
Hark! did you not hear that loud shriek?
Ah! do you not see that wild eye?
List--do you hear that mother speak
For her son that is doom'd to die?
Behold the eloquence of love!
A mother for her child distress'd:
A gush of feeling from above
Invades and fills her yearning breast.
That flood of tears,--those wringing hands,
Mark her abandonment of soul,
As, list'ning to the king's commands,
Her grief refuses all control.
My child! my child!--(tho' she betray it,)
"The living child" give to my foe!
'Where is my child?--Oh! do not slay it!
Let me my arms around it throw!'
Thus nature's impulse bursting forth,
Reveals the mother's kindred blood,
And stamps upon her claim the truth:
Whilst foil'd the guilty claimant stood.
Such love breathes not in courts, where meet
Soft, studied ease and pamper'd vice:
As soon you'll find the genial heat
Of nature's sun in fields of ice!
And that fond soul was one like she
Who bathed the Saviour's feet with tears:
And hers, like Mary's ecstasy,
Flows from the influence of prayers:
For, Solomon had sought of God
Not hoards of wealth, nor "length of days:"
But holy unction from His rod,
The bright indwelling of Truth's rays.